Under the Influence
by PoppyB
Summary: I don't need alcohol, Elliot, not when I have you. You're like a drug I can't get out of my system no matter how hard I try and I'm under the influence. Under your influence.
1. Chapter 1

A/N: Timeframe: Just before Elliot and Kathy take a road trip to Splitsville.

* * *

The party is already in full, glorious swing when I coast slowly past the house. I'm secretly hoping I won't find a place to park and I'll have to go home. I put off showing up until the last possible second, hoping to talk myself out of attending. Damn. There's a spot. I am still trying to change my mind even as I am parking the car, opening the door, slamming it shut, shoving my keys deep into my jacket pocket, gripping the small, silvery-wrapped present in my sweaty hand.

_Why don't you just turn around and go home? It's not too late._ I talk to herself as I make my way up the well-manicured walkway to the front door. _No one will notice if you bail. Monday morning tell them, him, that you: Got a wicked headache and fell asleep on the couch/Got lost/Got a better offer._

The windows of the house are all fully lit and wide open, even though the night air is cool. I'm sure, with all those people crammed inside, it's oppressively hot. I start to feel a bit claustrophobic just thinking about it. All. Those. People.

_Just make an appearance, say Hello, give him the present, walk out. See? You can manage that._

It's so simple, this plan. I wonder, much later, how it got so completely fucked up.

I caress the door handle, smooth, cool brass under my fingertips. How many times has _he_ gripped this same handle, I think, home from work, another day, into the loving embrace of his wife and kids. I take a deep, steadying breath and push open, into, the crowd of well-wishers of family, friends and co-workers gathered to celebrate Elliot Stabler's 40th birthday.

I receive a few semi-interested glances as I enter, but no one approaches and I recognize no one yet. Oh wait – _she_ looks familiar. That redhead in the corner whispering into that guy's ear. Darla? Darlene? Computer crimes, maybe. She's dressed to kill in a low-cut emerald green blouse and tight black pants. The guy is loving it, chuckling and rubbing her hip. So it's gonna be _that_ kind of party, I think. Great.

Feeling strangely self-conscious, I wind my way through the partygoers, my head slightly bowed, the present clutched to my chest. First order of business: Find and consume several units of alcohol. There – that looks promising. A table in the kitchen loaded with booze. God, there are so many _people_ here. I help myself to a beer, down it so quickly I barely taste it, grab another and head out into the throng again. Isn't there anyone here I actually _know_.

"Olivia."

I know that voice, all too well – the only one I actually didn't want to hear until I was much drunker.

"You're here." He says it like he doesn't quite believe what he sees. Perhaps he thinks I don't exist outside his frame of work reference. He doesn't sound unhappy.

"Hey, El." I hesitate for only a moment before I lean up, kiss his cheek lightly. I mean, it's only appropriate, right? Friends kiss each other's cheeks. He smells like soap and aftershave. He smells so _fucking_ sexy. "Happy Birthday."

"Thanks." He takes a sip of his beer, studies me appraisingly. I am conscious of my outfit, my somewhat low-cut and clingy red shirt, the snug black pants. Even though it's 200 degrees in here, I pull my jacket closer around me, hold my bottle up.

"Here's to 40 more."

"Beers or birthdays?" he grins.

"Hopefully both." Ha ha.

He smiles at me warmly, his blue blue eyes never once wavering from my face. The heat of the room, the alcohol and the intensity of his gaze all combine to make me feel suddenly very woozy. I close my eyes. Whoops. Big mistake.

"Whoa, whoa." Elliot catches my arm, steadies me, his expression a mixture of concern and amusement. "You all right?"

"Yeah. I just have to sit down for a minute."

He leads me to a couch crammed with people.

"Do you actually _know_ all these people?" I ask. I hate thinking who would attend my fortieth birthday. Casey. Elliot and the guys. Willy the pizza delivery boy.

"Hey, Frank, move your ass, willya? Got a woozy partner here," he playfully shoves some guy out of the way and I sink down gratefully. I look up at him, about to say _Thanks_, when he's attacked by at least six different people, all slapping him on the back, yelling _Happy Birthday, Old Man_, and dragging him off somewhere. He almost breaks his neck twisting around for a last look in my direction, but we barely make eye contact before he disappears. I sigh, questioning once again my decision to attend this shindig.

_Five more minutes_, I promise myself. _A few deep breaths, stand up, walk out._

I take a minute to collect my thoughts, wondering why the hell I don't know a single person here, why I didn't ask Casey to carpool with me so I could have had one "friend" by my side. I finish the rest of my beer and decide I need one more before I make my grand exit. Irresponsible? Probably. Necessary? Definitely.

Drink in hand, I finally start to relax. A bit. I can feel the week's tension knots in my shoulders start to untie themselves. People's faces look a little friendlier now, a little more open. I smile at a few of them and they smile back. I wander through the Stabler family household, feeling all but invisible, and everyone knows the trouble invisible people can get themselves into.

Family photos. Everywhere. Framed, beautiful images of Elliot and Kathy and their children at every conceivable age and place in their lives. Birthdays. Outings. Vacations. Christmas. Colour. Black and white. _Sepia_. Good God. I find myself standing in front of a particularly attractive photo of Elliot and Kathy. She's leaning back into him, hair loose and flowing. They both look happy and relaxed, completely in love—

"That's one of my favourites, too," a voice, low, over my shoulder. If I wasn't a tiny bit drunk, I would jump. Instead, I allow myself to smile.

"Hi, Kathy," I say, turning my head to her, as she seems not inclined to move into my field of vision.

"Hello, Olivia. I'm really glad you could make it." She looks very much like the woman in the photo before me. A bit older, perhaps, definitely wiser. She actually looks very attractive tonight, in a light purple blouse and short black skirt. Is she looking for Elliot's attention, I wonder, or will any male do?

I nod, because I don't trust my voice right now. I'm afraid I might say something stupid, something revealing, like, _Yeah, I didn't think I could make it through the weekend without seeing Elliot. I wanted to make sure he got his 40 birthday kisses, with one to grow on_.

"This is quite the impressive turnout," I say instead, taking another sip of my drink.

"Lots of family, lots of old friends," she says, stepping a bit closer. "Not too many workmates."

_God, did she just call me a workmate_? I think. Yes, yes she did. Lovely.

"Did you want me to take that for you?" she asks politely, the perfect hostess, and I realize I'm still clutching the damn present. My security blanket. Well, it was my security until I grabbed my Friend the Beer. Still, I'm reluctant to hand it over. I want to give it to Elliot myself. I think. "You really didn't have to, you know. It was best wishes only."

"Oh," I say, because it's the only word that comes to me. "Well. It's nothing, really."

There is a small, tense standoff between Kathy and me; we form our own tight, silent circle, the eye of the storm as the party whirls and rages around us. She is staring at me, her lips taut like her teeth are biting back whatever words are trying to squeeze out. She is a polite, well-bred woman, though; I wonder if she's ever cussed. Ever said _Fuck_, ever said, _Fuck me, Elliot, fuck me_--

OK, just stop that right now. I dig my fingernails into the palm of my hand until my eyes sting. Kathy relaxes her mouth, rearranges it into something resembling a smile.

"Go mingle," she says. "There are lots of available men here."

She slips into the crowd and I down the rest of my beer, letting the glass clink against my front teeth. Well, after that little speech all my good intentions have taken a sharp detour south. I've never been anything but completely… _respectable_ around Elliot. I've never led him on, never given him even an inkling of my true feelings for him. Anything he may have brought home with him and shared with his wife are figments of his own fucking imagination. Suddenly I am sick and tired of feeling ashamed when I have done nothing to earn that woman's scorn and bitter diatribes. She can go to hell.

The ultimate Catholic insult. _I'll_ probably go to hell just for thinking it.

I pass a framed mirror on the wall. I stop, fiddle with my hair, smooth my lipstick. I slip Elliot's gift into my coat pocket. I'll give it to him. Eventually.

All right, Kathy. Where are all these available men?

tbc


	2. Chapter 2

It's almost 9 p.m. and at this rate, I won't be going back to my apartment tonight.

At least, not without some company.

Kathy was right about one thing: there are plenty of attractive, available men here. It's just that most of them happen to be related to Elliot. Maybe that was all part of her plan. She won't share her husband, but she'll offer me the next best thing: his second cousin Richard.

I find Richard perusing the buffet table, looking about as enthralled with the evening's proceedings as I am. I introduce myself, seeing as Kathy seems to have no interest in actually helping me meet these men. He is about to blow me off, I think, until I tell him who I am. That gets his attention, all right, which makes me wonder exactly what all these people here have heard about Elliot and his Workmate.

"Well," Richard says, putting down his plate of food and checking me out, top to bottom. Well, indeed. "So _you're_ the infamous Olivia."

"Well, I don't know about _infamous_ …" I say, with a slight roll of the eyes. I am blushing and hating it. What the hell has been said about me around here? And, by who?

Richard is tall and well-built with one of those macho airs about him that usually turns me right off. Perhaps it is the haze of alcohol that is taking the edge off tonight, but I find him oddly appealing. He looks like he doesn't take any shit, from anyone. He looks like he could go a few satisfactory rounds in the bedroom. He looks alarmingly like Elliot.

"Who are you here with?" he asks, stepping closer. He's treading dangerously close to my personal space, but I don't back up. In fact, I shrug my coat off, finally, and fold it over my arm. He takes it from me, tosses it over the back of a kitchen chair.

"No one, actually," I say. "I thought some of my…uh… _workmates_ might be here by now. But, no such luck."

"You seen the birthday boy yet?" There's some definite sarcasm there, some bite to his words. I'm sensing there's some history between Elliot and this second cousin that's rated anything but Family.

"Yeah, awhile ago. He was dragged off by a horde of crazed partiers. Maybe they're baking him into a cake."

He says something with a shark grin but it's drowned out under a wave of raucous laughter from behind us. I lean closer.

"What?"

"I said, Let's hope so!"

He hands me a beer and wraps his hand possessively around my elbow. He leads me away from the kitchen. I let him. He leans down, puts his mouth close to my ear. I can actually feel his lips brush my earlobe and I shiver, even in the stifling heat of the room. He's whispering something to me, but I don't listen, can't hear, because at that moment, like a missile finding its mark, my eyes lock with Elliot's. He is 10 feet away, standing with yet another group of friends. They are all laughing it up, sharing stories, talking over one another, but he is still and quiet, watching me. He wears a puzzling expression; a mixture of surprised amusement, wariness and jealousy. I don't know why _jealousy_ pops into my head, but it's there, and I know I'm right. Elliot Stabler is jealous and I just stare back at him, liking that he's jealous because he's married and I can't have him and he can't have me and we can't have each other. It's a sick little game I'm playing, but tonight I'm in the mood for games. He can thank his wife for that, later.

He's still watching as Richard moves his head away and leads me from the kitchen. Just before we lose sight of one another he gives a tiny, almost imperceptible shake of his head. A warning? If it is, he can shove it. I'm a big girl and he knows it. If I can't wrap my arms and legs around him, can't press my lips to his, Richard will have to do. For tonight, anyway.

Richard knows this house. We pass several doors in the back of the house. He pushes open the third and pulls me into darkness. After several seconds my eyes adjust to the light seeping in through a small, high window and I see we're in the laundry room. Washer, dryer, soaps and fabric softeners. It smells like Elliot. What the hell am I doing?

"Now, this is better," Richard says. He puts his hands on my hips, pushes me back against the washing machine, lifts me up effortlessly so that I'm sitting on top. My legs dangle down the front, my feet kicking the front with a metallic twang. I down half my beer, chastise myself for the last time for not leaving an hour ago. For showing up in the first place. He is staring at my breasts and instead of feeling insulted, I am pleased. I am pleased that a member of the male species finds me attractive. That this particular member of the male species is, as far as I know, not married. Which reminds me.

"Uh, Richard…" He is caressing my arms, my thighs. "You're not, by any chance…"

"Divorced," he says immediately. "Fifteen months. No kids."

Like this makes everything acceptable, rational, sane.

His hands, big strong hands, like Elliot's, slide around the back of my neck, pull my head down, towards him. All I can smell is Elliot. If I pretend hard enough, these are Elliot's hands touching me, Elliot's lips on mine, on my neck, the tops of my breasts. He pushes my legs apart, moves against me, kisses me. I guess I could say no, stop, I don't want this, if any of that were true. Right now this is exactly what I need. But it's nothing that I want.

We are pretty much dry humping like two horny teenagers with nowhere to go in Elliot and Kathy Stabler's laundry room when I hear it, that Goddamn Birthday Song, loud and boisterous and stupid. I hate that song, always have. Brings back too many raw and painful memories of my own disastrous "parties" with my mother drunk, clad in her bra with a drink in her hand, literally dragging the neighbourhood kids in off the street to celebrate. "Come on in! Olivia's turning (insert appropriate age here)! You're all invited! Gifts? Naw…she doesn't need a thing! Wanna drink?"

Now I'm singing along in my head, idiotically, _Happy Birthday, Dear Elliot_, as Richard slides his hands up under my shirt, cups my breasts, hardens my nipples. He is grinding his erection against me, and God help me, I am close to orgasm. He moves his hands to my ass, clamps down, pulls me closer, pushes against my centre. The song reaches its frenzied, inevitable climax as I reach my own, coming in my pants, as I'm sure Richard does, too, groaning, sucking my neck. I ride the waves of heat and release to the sound of applause and laughter. I picture Elliot blowing out candles, accepting a kiss and a hug from Kathy hearty slaps on the back from God knows who.

Richard pulls away, removing his hands, adjusting his pants.

"God," he chuckles, "I haven't done that since I was 17."

"Congratulations," I retort, witty and detached to the last. My eyes are now fully adjusted to the light in here and heartbreakingly, this guy looks nothing like Elliot Stabler.

"You all right?" Richard the Gentleman asks. I nod curtly.

"Never better."

Richard studies me, a smirk on his face. "Olivia Benson."

He speaks my name like it's a prize he's won, a shiny trophy held aloft with his name engraved on the plaque. A sick, knowing feeling squirms in my gut. Like some kind of contest and he's the victor.

"I need a drink. You?" He opens the door, waits for me.

"In a minute."

As I smooth down my shirt, my hair, my frazzled nerves, I wonder when my life became All About Elliot. I wonder why I can't even come without him invading my soul.

I wonder if he wonders where the hell I am.

tbc


	3. Chapter 3

I am suddenly full of a remorse so deep and wordless from my frolic on the washing machine I feel like a little kid caught sneaking cookies from the baking tray. Instead of basking in the afterglow of my orgasm, I feel bereft and astonishingly… _guilty_. Richard is watching me, waiting, holding the door. I make a pretense of adjusting my shirt, running my fingers through my hair, hoping he'll just leave. Me. Alone. I realize, then, he has no intention of walking out of here without me on display. It's becoming clear I am a conquest here. I am someone to be seen with. And someone is supposed to see us.

I walk stiffly around Richard without touching him. He attempts to take my arm again, but I'm having none of it. I head straight for the kitchen to grab another beer and I feel him close behind, breathing down my neck. So far no one seems to have noticed us. Shit. I literally bump into Kathy, who's attempting to carve up a massive cake into a 547 pieces for her guests. She startles, looks up, sees everything.

"Gee, Olivia. I guess you took my advice," she licks blue icing off her finger, gives me a knowing, guarded look. "Hey, Richard."

"Kathy," Richard says with a big shit-eating grin on his face. How the hell did I ever think he resembled Elliot, even one iota? I must have been drunker than I thought. "Look who I ran into."

"Yes, I see," she gives me one last long look before returning to her oh-so-important cake duty. For an instant I feel like pushing her face down into the frothy surface but I control myself, admirably. "You missed the song," she says.

"I guess they found better things to do," Elliot says, stepping up beside me. He's staring at Richard like he's something smeared on the bottom of his shoe. "I see you've shown up for cake, though. You must be…hungry."

"I _have_ worked up a bit of an appetite, now that you mention it. And, you know me. Could never pass up Kathy's baking," Richard says, still with that big, stupid smile on his face. Kathy and I watch this strange exchange but I dare not look her way. I sense she's enjoying it much more than I am. Me head is starting to hurt and more than anything I would like to be home, in my bed, alone.

"Yeah, I do seem to remember that little fact about you," Elliot leans over, picks up a paper plate with a slice of cake on it and hands it to Richard. "Here you go. And there's plenty more where that came from."

He finally turns to me. "How 'bout you, Liv? You hungry, too?"

I don't want to play this game and I shoot him a look that plainly tells him so. He either doesn't get it, or doesn't want to get it. Either way I could happily sock him right now.

"No, thanks. I think I'm gonna head, actually." I need to find my coat and I can't remember where it is. Kathy is watching me with a tiny smile playing around her lips – it's the happiest I've seen her all night. She keeps cutting cake and calmly putting it on plates, watching the show play out in front of her.

"So soon? Seems like you just got here," Elliot says, his voice cold, his eyes blue lasers.

"I'll walk you out," Richard volunteers, shoving cake in his mouth. My stomach turns queasily and I'm feeling woozy again. I just to get the hell _out_ of this twisted family reunion.

"No thank you," I say testily.

"I don't mind…seeing as we're such special… _friends_ now."

The party whirls and rages on around us as the glass dome descends, blocking out all sound but Elliot's heavy breaths. I can actually see a vein bulging in his neck. Kathy raises an eyebrow, but doesn't seem particularly concerned about her husband's near apoplectic state.

"Really?" he says quietly. "You and… _him_, huh Liv?"

"Elliot…" I wonder why I feel the need to explain myself to this man, with his wife standing right here, listening to every word, every nuance.

"Did Richard happen to mention he was also Kathy's special _friend_ once?"

"Elliot," Kathy says in that tone wives reserve for their wayward husbands. She is warning him to stop, but I want to warn her it's not going to work. I have seen him go after perps in this mood and nothing short of a tank is going to halt him now.

"Well, we really didn't do much talking, if you know what I mean."

I've had just about enough, but I seem unable to move my legs. We form an awkward tableaux, the four of us, rooted around the kitchen island littered with empty glasses and bottles and the damn festive birthday cake.

I can feel the mad coming off Elliot in hot waves. His hands are gripping the edge of the counter with white knuckles.

"Not sure that I do," he seethes.

"Honey, just let it go…" Kathy shakes her head, amused, but I just feel ill, shaken to the core. What have I gotten myself into the middle of?

"You see, Olivia," Elliot speaks to me, but glares at Richard. "Richard and Kathy were an _item_ for awhile, before we started dating. Practically engaged, weren't you?"

"Elliot, it was high school, for pity's sake. We were kids," Kathy admonishes.

"So were we," he says, still staring at Richard.

"All water under the bridge, Elliot," Richard grins, but his voice is steely, his eyes dead. "And besides, you won, right? You got the girl, the family, the house, the job. The partner." With this last, he looks pointedly at me and I, Goddammit, blush.

"Yeah," Elliot finally releases the table, rubs his hands. "I won, all right."

Now Kathy is staring at Elliot, hurt shadowing her face.

"Drop it. Both of you." Again with the voice, the Mother Voice. They both look at her, and Elliot's face softens a bit, the vein stops throbbing. I take this opportunity to slip away, pushing through the people, the heat, the claustrophobia threatening to send me spinning off into oblivion. Fuck my coat. I just have to get home.

I'm on the front walkway before I realize my Goddamn keys are in the pocket. Shit. Now what?

"Olivia."

I swallow huge cold breaths of beautiful night air, willing my nerves to settle, my mind to sober.

"Where are you going?" He's using his angry tone, one he probably imposes on his kids and I bristle at the implication that I need reining in.

"Home, Elliot. Party's over."

"You think I'm gonna let you drive home in your _condition_?"

"I'm fine, El. Believe me, I can take care of myself." But I'm not going anywhere. He moves closer, his arm brushing against mine as he circles me, faces me.

"I don't even know what to say to you right now," he says in a low, ragged voice and I can't look at him. I look, instead, at the row of houses, at streetlights, at suburbia, at a life I will never live.

"There's nothing to say." I'm not thinking too clearly but I refuse to let him know. I will not let him drag me into a pointless battle of words, of wit, because there is no way I can win tonight. He senses this and moves in for the kill.

"Richard, Liv? _Richard_? You know I used to call him _Dick_ when we were kids? He still is. A giant Dick." He is angry and hurt and, God help me, disappointed.

"It was nothing, OK? If you really have to know. It was nothing." I look back at the house nervously, expecting Richard or Kathy or half a dozen burly guys to come tearing out any minute.

"It didn't look like _nothing_ from where I was standing." Elliot puts his hands on his hips – classic Cop Stance – and fixes me in the headlights of his eyes. I am hypnotized. "Richard certainly didn't seem to think it was _nothing_."

"It was…some kissing, all right?" I feel hideously embarrassed, like it's my father grilling me after missing curfew. Fuck you, I think. His face falls as I continue, but I don't care. "Kissing and…"

"And what?" he says quietly.

"And that's it. That's it, all right?" I rub my eyes tiredly.

He bites his lip, looks away. I've hurt him. I wonder, is it because I kissed Richard, or because I didn't kiss _him_?

"You know this wasn't about you. You know that, right?" He says this coldly, casually, cutting me to the bone. "He doesn't give a shit about you. This was to get at me. Hurt _me_ because of this stupid, ancient vendetta. Because he was in love with _Kathy_ …madly in love and she dumped him, 'kay? For me…"

My anger and frustration boils over into a rage I cannot contain. "Fuck you, Elliot. Happy Birthday, and fuck you."

"Liv…I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I didn't mean it that way."

"I think you meant it _exactly_ that way. Never one to mince words, Elliot. Nicely put, by the way. Mission accomplished."

I start to walk away – don't know where I'm going without my keys – but he grabs my arm, tight.

"He knows, Liv, OK?"

"Knows what?" I shout before I can help myself. "What the hell are you talking about?"

He lowers his voice even more, so I have to lean in to hear him. "He knows how I feel about—"

He stops, shakes his head. I wait for him to continue, but I can see he's battling some sort of demon in his head and can't go on.

It doesn't matter, because I'm done.

I pull away and head down the walk. "Go back in, Elliot. Have a piece of cake for me."

"Olivia! You're not driving anywhere." It's an order and my back goes up immediately.

"I'm going for a walk." I say this over my shoulder, dismissing him. "Your present's in my coat pocket. Let me know if you like it."

With that I am gone. Where to, I have no idea.

tbc


	4. Chapter 4

It takes me about 47 seconds to calm myself down.

Six seconds after that I realize I don't have a clue where I am.

I really should pay closer attention to street signs when I storm away from my partner's birthday parties in a snit. When I left I was furious and more than slightly drunk, both of which served to keep me warm enough not to notice the increasingly chilly night air. Now my anger is starting to abate, along with the comforting alcoholic haze, and I am left deflated, depressed, and more than a little cold. I cross my arms across myself, rub my arms briskly, realize I can see my breath billowing in front of my face.

I am cold and alone and don't know how to get back to the party.

I laugh a little at my odd predicament, because half an hour ago I was dry-humping Elliot's cousin on the Stabler family washing machine, beads of sweat building along my hairline and under my arms. The heat we generated together was genuine but short-lived and definitely regrettable. I don't like to think I am That Kind of Girl, but right now I do. I am exactly That Kind of Girl who loves one man but scratches her itch with another, pale substitute and pays for it in innumerable ways for a long time after. Somehow, being trapped in the Stabler household with all the Stabler friends and family members, all those photos and keepsakes and memories that don't belong to me made me want to crawl out of my skin and into someone else's, even if for a little while.

At least now I can say I had an orgasm in Elliot's house, even if the wrong person gave it to me.

It is late, it is dark, and I really just want to go home. I want to rip these clothes from my body that reek of smoke and beer and betrayal and disappointment and crawl into my own bed, alone, alone, alone.

I continue to walk, albeit more slowly, as I debate whether or not to just ask someone in this neighbourhood where Elliot lives; Jesus, he's a _cop_ - people must know him and his super wonderful family; or just turn around and retrace my impulsive steps.

I hear the car slow behind me before I catch a glimpse of it in my peripheral vision. I immediately tense, readying myself for a fight-or-flight situation, when I hear the window lower and an all-too-familiar voice call out.

"Hey, pretty lady. How 'bout a ride?"

I sigh, stop, turn around. Richard. Of course, it's Richard. Of course it's not Elliot. Why would Elliot leave his own birthday party to chase after his wayward partner who just made out with his own cousin in his laundry room?

Why, indeed.

"Just getting some fresh air," I say, keeping my distance. We eye each other for a moment. I must admit the warmth emanating from the car's interior is enticing.

"Get in, Olivia," he says, a trifle less friendly. I sigh, rub my arms again. Is this the lesser of two evils? Honestly, it's a tough call. "I'm not that bad, am I?" Now he sounds pissed and I decide to call a truce, long enough to get back to the house. I slide in the front seat, fasten my belt and lean back. Exhaustion rolls over me in waves.

"Elliot sent me, if that makes you feel any better," he says quietly, and I have to admit it does. A little. "He said you two had an argument."

"Hmmm." I am cool under pressure, noncommittal.

"What about?"

We pull away from the curb, turn right at the corner. I look out the window at houses and lawns, families sleeping and living, hopefully mostly in peace. I pretend I haven't heard Richard, but he just isn't going to let this drop.

"Hmmm?"

"What. Did. You. Fight. About." This man is nothing if not persistent.

"It's…uh… _complicated_ …" Really, what else can I say at this point? And really, what Goddamn business is it of his?

He shakes his head in disgust. "You two." He spits these words out like poison. "You two are quite a _pair_, y'know? The two of you. Working together, attending each other's _birthday_ parties like you're in fucking _grade_ school. It's _laughable_, y'know that? It's…it's a fucking _joke_, if y'really wanna know. I just have one question – when are you gonna tell Kathy about it?"

I don't know what I was expecting, but this tirade wasn't it. He's lucky I don't have my gun with me.

"Whoa, whoa, whoa!" I am suddenly filled with warmth again. Blazing heat, actually. I can feel it radiating through my body, into my face. I am thawed and ready to fight. "I don't know who the hell you think you are, but you don't the first thing about me and the relationship, work or otherwise, I have with Elliot."

"I know enough, believe me. Everyone does." He stops abrubtly at a stop sign, then speeds on. I can hardly believe what I am hearing. I have stepped out of reality and into some vicious particularly twisted episode of The Twilight Zone.

"What are you talking about?" I can barely control my anger and frustration and he senses this. He looks over at me, his expression tense and equally angry.

"Look, you work with Elliot, right? You see that side of him, the _work_ side. Fine. Good. The rest of us have the other Elliot, the husband, the cousin, the brother, the father. Plus we get to deal with all that crap that goes along with doing what you two do for your _job_. He brings it home with him, get it? And, he brings _you_ home with him. Kathy…"

"What?" My voice is sharp, demanding, but also tremulous. He is dragging me into this conversation against my better judgement, against my will, but like a car wreck, I can't tear myself away from its devastating conclusion. "Kathy _what_?"

"She thinks…she is _convinced_ you two are having an affair of some sort."

I snort involuntarily. "Of some sort." My voice catches in my throat. I feel ill.

"Yeah. Even if it's not sexual, so what? You don't think people can have emotional affairs that are just as harmful to someone's marriage?" He leans back, forces himself to slow the car. The neighbourhood is looking as familiar as it can to someone like me, who wasn't really paying attention in the first place. We are almost back. The scene of the crime, as it were. He pulls up in front of the house, shuts off the engine. The sudden silence fills the car's interior with everything still left unsaid.

"Elliot and I are not having an affair. Of any sort." Even to my ears the words sound ludicrous. The party is still going on and the thought of returning to the house to hunt down my coat fills me with dread. Maybe I can send Richard in for me. I'm sure he'd love to help send me on my way.

Richard's deep sigh indicates his own disbelief, but he has enough sense to not push it further. He speaks quietly without looking at me.

"Elliot's my cousin. He's family, ok? But, I don't give a shit if he wants to screw his own life up. I don't care if he gets hurt by you, by whatever the hell you two are doing. Kathy, however, is another matter. I won't have anyone hurting her."

He turns dark, menacing eyes on me and I suddenly wonder if this is what he means about this so-called "affair" between Elliot and I. He thinks he sees it because he knows, he _gets_ it. Richard is still very much in love with his cousin's wife.

And I thought my life was complicated. At least I'm not related to any of these people.

I look over at the house again, steeling my nerves, when I see his face, looking out, watching us. My heart shudders. Elliot. Waiting. Wondering, I suppose, what we're doing out here, parked, in the dark, in the cold. Richard opens the door, moves to get out.

"You comin'?" he says, unkindly.

I guess I don't have a choice, at this point. As I follow him up the walk I can't help thinking I'm in the eye of the storm, with the worst to come. But, how can it get much worse than this?

Some party, Elliot. Have I thanked you yet for inviting me?


	5. Chapter 5

For the second time tonight I push open the front door of Elliot's house and slip unobtrusively inside.

Back to the scene of the crime.

After the chill of the night air, the Stabler household feels stifling hot. I am stone cold sober now and regretting the piercing clarity of my thoughts. Is it my imagination, or are the remaining guests glaring at me as I pass by them? Their gazes are definitely anything but welcoming and I can hear nasty whispers, I'm sure of it.

That's her, the _partner_.

So they say. _Giggle_.

What? Maybe it _is_ all innocent, after all.

Look at her! What do _you_ think?

And so on.

Paranoia you say? I wish. I really do.

I just want to get my coat and get the hell out. The crowd has thinned, but the diehards have settled in for the long haul. A card game has started at the kitchen table, seven or eight loud and rowdy guys, shirt sleeves pushed up, beer bottles and whisky glasses scattered amongst the cards. A couple even clench cigars between their teeth, blue smoke hanging above their just-starting-to-bald heads. Here and there groups of two and three are lounging on chairs and couches, deep in conversation. Remnants of a birthday party, half-eaten plates of cake, a few balloons, litter the rooms.

Where is Elliot?

And Kathy?

Why do I care?

"She's probably upstairs giving him her _present_," says a voice in my ear. I feel hot, sticky breath on my neck. Richard. Why won't this guy leave me the fuck alone? What kind of karma is paying me back tonight? I turn and he winks lewdly at me. Again I wonder, What the hell was I thinking?

"Very subtle, Richard. Exactly what I would expect from you."

He doesn't say a word, just takes a long drink from a beer he's snagged from the fridge.

"Want one?" he says, motioning to his drink. I shake my head, to clear it as much as to say _No_. Where is my coat? Aha. Finally. I spot it under the kitchen table. I drag it out. It's covered in dusty footprints and birthday cake icing and alcohol. I don't care at this point. I don't care that it cost me a paycheque and kept me warm last winter and Elliot told me I looked good in it. All it reminds me of now is this Goddamn party and I'm ready to throw it in the trash when I get home.

If I ever get the fuck _home_.

"It really is the height of rudeness to leave without saying goodbye to the hosts," says Richard, like some tiny Demon sitting on my shoulder, following me around obsessively.

"Yeah?" I retort. "Somehow I don't think they'll care."

"I wouldn't be too sure," he says. He grabs my arm, and it's fucking déjà vu, I'm right back where I was when this whole mess began, when he led me into the laundry room so long ago. So fucking long ago. If only I'd said _No_. Such, a small, simple yet effective word. If only I'd said, _Thanks, but I'm saving my first Stabler orgasm for your cousin, the good-looking one. The married one_.

Hindsight, and all that crap.

"He may be up there fucking Kathy, but I bet my sterling reputation he's thinking about you." He says this very quickly and very quietly so no one hears it but me and it takes a couple of seconds for what he has said to really sink in. I feel suddenly dizzy again, like I'm drunk, and I wish I was. Drunk was so much better than this.

I slowly pull my arm free. What can I possibly say to that? Nothing.

"Bye, Richard. I really hope I never see you again," I say this, instead of what I really want to say, which is _How do you know this? How do you think you know these things?_

I am making my getaway. I am almost there. I can see the door and it's getting closer. But then, of course, it all goes to hell because as I pass by the staircase that leads upstairs I slam headlong into the Guest of Honour and his lovely wife, the Hostile Hostess.

"Perfect," I hear Kathy mutter over the buzzing in my head.

We all stand there, dazed, staring at one another. They both look vaguely embarrassed yet, I think, smugly satisfied.

"What have you two been up to?" a loud slightly drunken voice calls out behind us. This is followed by appreciative hoots and laughter.

"Wouldn't you like to know?" Elliot calls back, reddening slightly.

I feel a sudden wetness between my thighs.

Because I think I know exactly what they've been up to, and God help me, it turns me on, the very thought of Elliot Stabler naked and slick and God help me. I shoulder on my coat, feel for my car keys in the pocket. Thank God, they're still there. Elliot's birthday present, however, is not. Whatever. I walk towards the door. Family photos mock my passing.

"What's this? Leaving without a goodbye kiss?" For the first time tonight I wish it was Richard's voice grating on my last nerve. But of course it's not, because I'm the unluckiest woman at this party.

I turn, suddenly exhausted. I almost laugh with exhaustion.

"I didn't mean a kiss for _me_, of course," he says snidely. "But what's a party without a kiss for the Birthday Boy?"

"I think this party's over, don't you?" I say. For some reason I don't want to meet his blazing-blue gaze, which I can almost feel burning twin craters into my face. Why won't he just let me go?

"Over? Hell, it's just getting started!" He leans back against the wall and cocks his head at me, amused. At least, I would almost think he was amused if not for that murderous glint in his eyes. "Can I get you something to drink? I don't think you've had enough tonight."

I don't need alcohol, Elliot, not when I have you. You're like a drug I can't get out of my system no matter how hard I try and I'm under the influence. Under _your_ influence.

"What do you want from me, Elliot?" I hiss. "I know what you two were doing up there."

"Probably the same thing you and Richard were doing in the laundry room. My laundry room! Jesus, Liv! My clothes get washed in there."

People are starting to look again. I simply can't take anymore tonight.

I turn, and I leave. I slam the door behind me, hopefully for the last time in a long time.

My heels make a sharp staccato clatter on the cement as I hurry to my car. _Go, go, go_, I say to myself over and over.

He catches up to me just as my fingers grasp the handle. His hand slides over my shoulder – I can feel the heat of him even through my heavy coat – down the front of me, over my breast and he stops for a moment, lingering there, before he turns me around to face him.

"I didn't sleep with Kathy."

"That's funny. I didn't sleep with Richard, either."

"We were…fighting…arguing. We took it upstairs, so we could hash it out."

"Hash what out?"

He's going to tell me, I think. He's about to tell me when I hear more heavy footsteps behind us. Richard. Kathy. Angry faces, hot, white breath clouds encircling their heads.

"For God's Sakes, Elliot. Isn't this enough? Let her go home already!" She is furious, but also fighting back tears. I am almost embarrassed for her. Almost.

"I was _saying_ good night," Elliot snaps. "I'm thanking her for her present."

My present. Jesus. I'd forgotten. It seems like a million years ago that I told him about it. A stupid thing, now, it seems. A photo, of the two of us. How pathetic. One day, at the mall, waiting for the latest perp in our endless waits for perps, we encountered one of those photo machines, four photos for a couple of bucks. We did it. Who knows why? At the time it seemed simply simple, and fun, almost childlike. Then our guy appeared and I grabbed the strip, shoved it in my pocket and all but forgot about it. Until Elliot's birthday. I'd cut out the best one – both of us smiling, looking almost happy, like a couple who knows everything about the other person and still loves them - and put it in a tiny frame for him.

Stupid, stupid, _stupid_.

And perfect.

Our eyes meet and he murmurs _Thank-you_ under his breath. I nod. Richard sees it, of course.

"So, I'll give you a call, 'kay Liv? We can pick up where we left off."

There are two sounds then. One is Elliot's fist hitting Richard's jaw. The second is Richard's body hitting the sidewalk.

Then it is very, very quiet. We all stare at Richard, who is holding his chin. Richard stares at Elliot, but he knew it was coming. He had to. He was, as we're not allowed to say in our unit, asking for it.

I don't feel the least bit sorry for him.

Nor, it appears, does Elliot because he's glaring down at his cousin like he's some bug that's just been squashed.

Kathy, on the other hand, is mortified. She kneels down beside her former beau, touches his hair, his hands.

"Oh, God, Richard. Are you all right?"

"Yeah. You want me to call a cop for you?" Elliot mutters.

She whips her head towards her husband. She looks like she could happily slug him right back. "Elliot. What's gotten into you tonight?"

He shrugs, shakes his head, like he doesn't know and doesn't care. "It's my birthday," is all he says.

And where am I in all this insanity? I am still burning from Elliot's touch. I am still wet from imagining him making love to his wife, and by association, to me. I am opening the car door, sliding in, starting the engine, and pulling away from the curb.

I am driving and watching it all from my rearview mirror. It could be a scene from a movie. I am now detached. Simply a voyeur.

I am realizing if I'm going to survive this fucked-up life I'm leading, I am going to have to kick my habit. My Elliot habit. My addiction. My eternal weakness.

I'm going to have to quit _him_.

Cold turkey.


End file.
